


Satisfaction.

by Hankenstein



Series: OT3: Stretching Diplomatic Relations [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar is the cutest domme in the world, Desk Sex, Dom/sub, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Fingerfucking, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Nipple Play, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hankenstein/pseuds/Hankenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3127757"> Curiosity. </a></p><p>(Curiosity killed the cat.)</p><p>(Satisfaction brought it back)</p><p>After Josephine is invited to play voyeur as Adaar and Bull play at... everything else, she decides to take the Inquisitor up on her offer for... more.</p><p>Completely free of endgame and personal mission spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all pretend Josephine's chair at her desk has a low back rather than a high one.

Night was falling on Skyhold. The Lady Montilyet had barely noticed as the Skyhold servants had come through to light the lanterns around her, so focused was she on her work. A chill _would_ have been biting into her bones, but for the quiet and diligent work of servants. They came through to stoke the fire before silently taking their leave. Someone had bought her dinner at her desk, and whilst she thanked the server appropriately for their rank and attendance, if you asked Josephine the age, or gender, or even race of the server a few minutes later, she would scarcely have been able to tell you.

Focus was one of the lady’s strong points.

Office warm, despite its size, and quiet despite the usual hustle, Josie found herself blinking heavily. She sighed, rolling her head on her neck and briefly laid down her quill. She would have to call it an evening eventually, she thought to herself.

As though summoned by the thought, Adaar pushed the door from the War Room open, gently, as though in deference to the stillness that had begun to fall over the evening.

“My lady,” Adaar murmured as she came past. “Burning the midnight oil too, I see.”

Josephine looked up at the tall woman and felt her heart skip a beat. She’d greeted the Inquisitor as she had come through that afternoon, of course, but Skyhold had been in full swing then. Josie’s public space had been filled with light and noise, and she’d barely given Adaar, and the previous evening’s happenings, a second thought.

Adaar came to stand before her desk. She stood in the same place she’d had the day before to deliver her invitation, and suddenly Josie found herself giving last night’s events, and the warm curve of Adaar’s mouth, a _great_ deal of thought.

“Yes,” Josephine responded, unsure of how to continue, heart full in her mouth as she remembered the press of Adaar’s lips against hers, the warmth of those horns in her hands.

As though on cue, the Inquisitor rescued her. “Oh, I would have returned these before but… well.” Adaar dipped into one of her pockets and unfolded Josie’s slippers, laying them delicately on the wide expanse of the desk.

If Josephine had been struggling with words before, the sight of those slippers struck her utterly speechless.

“Would you like to continue your work, my lady? Or would you walk the battlements with me? Some fresh air might do you some good.” Adaar’s tone was kind, and the offer not uncommon. They often walked together after a long evening of work, sometimes in silence, sometimes discussing avidly the day’s events. Josephine could see that the offer, and the timing thereof, was Adaar’s way of quietly saying _nothing has to change. We are still the women we were before._

That was something she could accept graciously. “Yes, actually. I was just finishing up.” Josephine shuffled her papers together and into a side drawer, and after a moment’s thought, added the slippers atop the papers before locking it.

Adaar coaxed Josephine back from the blushing mess her appearance had inspired. She asked about Josephine’s work for the day and commented on the pleasantries like the peacefulness of Skyhold at this advanced hour, as they walked through the main hall. It gave Josephine space to calm herself.

The air outside was chilly, but after an evening in a warm room, Josephine welcomed it. She tailed just after the Inquisitor’s broad form as they climbed the nearest staircase. The sky was sharp and clear, and the Anderfels peaked first over the top of the wall, then rolled into full view as the two women ascended.

After several minutes of walking, quietly nodding to each guard posted on the walls, Adaar broke the silence.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night, Josephine?”

Josephine thought she might blush again, but managed to keep her cheeks to their mere wind-chilled rosiness, no more. She’d been so _certain_ that she’d ruined things by fleeing, that she had embarrassed herself past the point of redemption, but there was nothing judgemental in her friend’s tone, merely polite curiosity.

The question deserved an answer, not the diplomatic politeness that Josie wielded like a sword, and she found herself considering the answer deeply. It had been… something, that was for certain. Potentially terrifying to be included and yet… exhilarating. More than Josie had ever imagined in her wildest dreams, and somehow so much more because of that.

“I did, Althene,” she said finally, feeling the moment deserved the Inquisitor’s first name. Despite it, she still felt she was unable to voice the depth of what she was feeling. “I- I apologise for fleeing when I did. I hope… I did not cause offense.” Though her mouth formed most easily around the language of diplomacy, it was not a deceit or deflection. In fact, Josie found herself meaning it more earnestly that perhaps anything she’d ever said before.

Adaar waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it! I understand. It can be… a little much to take in.”

Josie found herself glancing up at her friend. Was that a hint of innuendo in her voice?

Judging by the returned sidelong glance and the beginnings of her familiar smirk, Josie realised it most certainly was.

Encouraged Josephine’s small smile, the Inquisitor forged ahead. “So… would you like to join us again sometime in future?”

Josie did flush this time, to the tips of her ears, and found herself demurring. “It wouldn’t be… it wouldn’t be right, surely. With you the Inquisitor… with our work… I mean… it’s hardly proper, is it?”

Adaar hummed thoughtfully. It was as though she could hear Josephine’s heartbeat, and considered the truth it told over the lies of her words. “Are you saying that because you know it’s what you should say, or because you genuinely believe it?”

“Well- I-” for a rare moment in her life, Josephine was not sure how to proceed from there. There was something about the Inquisitor that threw her for a loop. Adaar didn’t speak around things, nor mince words, but her directness was not harsh or vulgar. She was open, and forward without being pushing, and Josephine knew that the invitation on the table, between them now, was just that. An invitation, not an order.

“Yes, I’m the Inquisitor, and you, my trusted advisor. I can promise, if you say yes, it will not interfere with our work. Besides, technically I’m Bull’s boss. D’you think we let that get in our way of being together?”

And yes, that was… another part of Josephine’s reluctance. She thought about Adaar’s behind purpling under the blows from Bull’s hand, little lines of broken skin. She thought of Bull and his… impressive physicality, of Adaar brought to orgasm with her body wrapped _around_ that impressive physicality, flushed lips pressed to Josephine’s as she trembled with pleasure. Did Josephine want that for herself? Her body throbbed at the thought. Exhilarating.

All of those images, all of those _possibilities_ tumbled through her head in a mad rush, and instead of giving voice to them she simply murmured, “No… I suppose you do not.”

Adaar continued. “And I know Bull, the great lunk, can be… intimidating?” she paused, as if having a sudden idea. “If it’s something you want… you and I could spend some time together. Without Bull. If that’s something you might like.” Adaar fumbled over her words, and for the first time Josephine heard a note of uncertainty, of vulnerability. It was easy enough to joke, to imply, but this here, as illustrated by her little stumble, was something that the woman genuinely wanted. And she feared Josephine’s answer.

Adaar swallowed, as though realising the edge of raw desire she had allowed to peek through. To combat that moment, she sidestepped easily into a joke. “Haven’t you even had an ill-advised love affair with someone you shouldn’t? All those courtly shenanigans. Don’t tell me there weren’t a few tumbles on secluded balconies.”

Josie found herself, emboldened not only by the Inquisitor’s offer but the desire in her voice, matched her naughty grin. “Actually… you are right about that.”

Adaar paused in her wide strides along the battlement, swinging her shoulders around to face the young woman, taking Josephine’s small hands in hers. Her face was pits and shadows in the light of the stars, her horns a gleaming silver line, and yet Josephine thought she’d never seen anything more lovely. Her eyes met the qunari’s, and there is was again, that measuring, hungry gaze.

Josephine felt uncertain again. “Would this… is it right? Without Iron Bull?”

Adaar _beamed_. “You are the most precious… I just…” she laughed, as though unable to contain it. “Yes, it’s alright. Bull and I are… devoted to one another. But devotion has never meant that we cannot share ourselves, and others.”

“Besides… I’m sure he appreciates having someone new to play with.”

There was that note in Adaar’s voice again, that teasing drawl, and Josephine was hyper aware of Adaar’s eyes on her, of how the Inquisitor was watching for the young woman’s reaction to the idea of being… played with.

Josephine felt her lips part, damp and almost shocked. A heady excitement rushed through her, and that was obviously enough for the taller woman, because suddenly Adaar was kissing her. The full lips on Josie’s were chill from the night air, and so the touch of Adaar’s tongue was impossibly warm against Josie’s lips.

The kiss was nowhere near as long as Josephine would have liked, and she found her lips bereft as she stared up at Adaar. “That’s a yes, then?”

And Josephine nodded, heart thudding in her chest.

“I’m so… I just!” Adaar smiled and laughed, over joyed, before squeezing and releasing Josephine’s hand, utterly unselfconscious, and turned to continue their progress along the walkway.

“A few things, then,” Adaar said, and there was something comfortingly formal in her tone. The next part of the conversation seemed to pass in a blur, assurances that Josephine could walk away at any time, instating what Adaar referred to as a watchword, giving her _madrigal_ with a slight smile on her lips.

It was as though Josephine was emerging from a dream and she realised that they’d lapped the battlements. Twice. And that her nose was freezing.

Adaar looked at the staircase they’d come up. She sighed, though it was a satisfied sound. “I will walk you to your quarters, if you like, my lady?” Adaar offered, arm out.

Josephine laughed as she took the arm. Adaar had this way about her, slipping into formal language with a smile and quirk of her brows, teasing and sultry by turns, but always, always with that edge of laughter in her voice.

They reached the door to Josephine’s quarters, and she suddenly felt awkward again. Now that she had said “yes,” to spending more time with the Inquisitor, what did that mean? She had this word, this lever she could pull to tear it all down, but what did that mean in this moment?

“I would invite you in, but, I am-” tired? Not ready? Needing more time? Time to carefully pour over exactly what she wanted to give to Adaar, or what she wanted Adaar to take from her?

Adaar saw the question in her eyes, and answered it smoothly. “That’s not why I walked you here, my lady,” she said softly. “You space is your own until such time, if ever, that you want to invite me into it.”

Josephine ducked her chin, smiling.

Adaar slid a gentle hand from Josephine’s shoulder to her jaw, cupping her chin so tenderly, that it was Josie who felt herself swelling forward, like the tide, rising on her toes to press her lips, still tingling from the cold, to Adaar’s mouth.

The kiss was brief but passionate, and Josie felt the warmth of the Inquisitor’s mouth begin to suffuse her, to tighten her chest with excitement.

Adaar pulled back, and Josephine was astounded to feel the qunari breathe heavily, almost a pant, against Josie’s mouth. As though this… excited her.

Just as much as it excited Josephine.

“I will see you tomorrow, my lady,” the Inquisitor said, almost roughly, taking shaky steps backwards, eyes not leaving Josephine’s face until an imminent staircase caused her gaze to swivel away so as to not go crashing down it. Josephine imagined it would be quite the racket. But she managed to get her feet on it, glancing over her shoulder at the ambassador as she descended the stairs.

Josephine stared after her, almost wishing she had asked the lady to stay.

***

The following evening brought a scene that was not dissimilar. The light was warm and dim, Josie’s dinner cold on the desk. She’d said her goodnights to Cullen, and then Cassandra, and Leliana as they came back through the office. Josephine would be lying if she said she wasn’t pointedly aware, by process of elimination, who must be left inside the war room. She tried to concentrate on her work, honestly she did, but she was keeping one ear out, constantly, for the noise of footsteps down the wide corridor.

When Adaar pushed the door open, Josephine had already laid down her quill. The Inquisitor started speaking already halfway through the door, without preamble, as though the thought had been on her mind all night.

“One thing I find so interesting about you,” Adaar said as she shut the heavy door behind her. “Is that you’re so _buttoned up_ all the time.” Her voice was light, and yet somehow full of promise.

Josephine felt the hair at the nape of her neck tingle as Adaar didn’t take up her usual position on the other side of Josephine’s desk. Instead, she came straight from the door to around behind the ambassador, resting large and capable hands on Josephine’s shoulders.

The Inquisitor’s demeanour was different than the night before. More languid, but somehow more tightly wound. Josephine thought that coiled danger was maybe a glimpse of how their enemies saw the formidable woman.

The formidable woman in question didn’t speak as she reached for the clasp of the ambassador’s heavy chain-of-office. Josie felt glued to her seat as the Inquisitor slipped her fingers beneath the chain, lifting it away and laying it to one side.

Freed from the weight of the chain, it was easy for Adaar’s fingers to go to work on the cloth-of-gold cravat at her neck.

The scarf was untied, and laid to one side, and Josie realised that if she didn’t breathe soon she was going to pass out. She sucked in a harsh breath as Adaar leant in and pressed a kissed to the side of Josephine’s now bared neck.

“Remember what we talked about last night?”

The noise that came out of Josephine’s could have, in some universe distinct from this one, be read as an assent, though it was not a noise she thought had ever come out of her mouth before. Adaar must have understood, because she continued, speaking into the side of Josephine’s neck.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I- someone might come in,” Josephine whispered. If Adaar had not been mere inches from her mouth, sucking a slow, warm kiss into Josephine’s neck, the breathy whisper might have been inaudible.

“Mm, yes. They might.” Exquisitely aware of the position of her back swept horns, Adaar shifted her head to the other side of Josie’s neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. Josephine felt chills spread out from the contact. “How does that make you feel?” Her hands still covered Josephine’s shoulders, holding her firmly against the hard back of her chair.

Josie could see the entirety of her office, dim as the evenings’ candles slowly sputtered out. She envisioned someone opening the heavy oak door and spotting her there at the desk, being unwound, undone, at the Inquisitor’s hands. Abandoned by her most loyal weapon in this moment, words dying in her taut throat, she panted at the thought of the sight she must be making, already feeling half naked with her weighty chain and cravat laid to one side.

“Do you want to stop?” Adaar asked again, low, insistent. The ambassador squeezed her eyes shut at the feeling of that voice in her ear, the throb of desire spelling out her answer, open office be damned.

“That’s not a rhetorical question, by the way,” Adaar pressed, and her voice somehow contained that same intensity of moments before and also the warm confidence of her friend (and now maybe lover?), who had taken her hand and asked her permission under the moonlight not twenty four hours ago. “I want to hear it.”

“I- I don’t want to stop,” Josie admitted softly.

“Good girl,” she whispered into the ambassador’s ear. Josie shuddered into Adaar’s grip. “Leave those hands right there on the desk for me, then. And keep an eye on the door, if you please.”

She felt rather than saw the Inquisitor straighten behind her, sliding hands down over her shoulders to the fastenings of Josephine’s clothes.

Adaar undid the top three buttons of Josephine’s blue dress, down to where it was restricted by the fabric of her cinch. “It’s not that I don’t think you look… gorgeous just the way you are.” Adaar murmured, picking up the thread of her thought from before. She went to work on the clasps of the satin shirt underneath, forearms resting familiarly against Josie’s collarbones, hot and comforting. “It’s just that… all these buttons… it’s all so inviting.”

Adaar’s fingertips felt hot, so hot, trailing little lines up and down Josephine’s sternum, the promise of her widening touch there, right _there,_ but she held off, steadily drawing Josephine’s anticipation out. “Watching you… across that table…” Adaar’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity was unbearable. “It’s very distracting. Just makes me want to… unwrap you.”

Josephine would have laughed at the somewhat trite statement, but as Adaar was speaking, she gripped teasing fingers into Josephine’s shirt and _pulled,_ agonisingly slow, the drag of the fabric against Josephine’s hardened nipples a torturous sensation, chills seemingly ricocheting wildly between her heated cheekbones and sensitised chest.

The bunched hems slid and scraped, even the satin feeling rough like canvas against Josie’s skin. Her mouth was dry and cheeks flushed, as cool air washed over her exposed breasts. They felt heavy and full against the fabric bunched beneath them.

Adaar’s fingers restarted their hypnotic trailing over the soft brown skin of Josephine’s sternum. They slid, delicate, trails of sensation radiating outwards, upwards and fanning over her collarbone. Josie’s hands, laid flat against the cool wood of her desk, _twitched,_ with desire to clamp over Adaar’s and force them to cup her breasts, hold them like they so ached to be held.

Adaar had her own schedule in mind, however, and seemingly giving their exposed setting no mind, she continued, calloused fingertips edging _slowly_ , too slowly, onto the swell of Josie’s breasts, still skirting the now-hard buds of the nipples, giving her just the barest edge of nail. Little red lines, repeated patterns, were starting to raise in Josie’s skin, and Adaar seemed content to carry on this pattern into eternity, ignoring the steadily increasing pulse beneath her hands.

When Josephine’s patience for the repetition grew thin, the nails against her skin skating close to her nipples, then reversing away for the umpteenth time, she heard a little whimper, a moan come from her own mouth.

Josephine went to turn her head. She wanted to look up at the calm qunari towering above her, to implore her to do _something,_ and suddenly Adaar’s fingers were there against her chin, turning Josephine’s face back forward, toward the door.

“Uh ah,” she admonished. Josephine felt her throat click. “Do you want more?“

Josephine nodded, and though she had intended the movement to be fast, and frantic, the action came out sluggish, already drunk on sensation from nothing but the deepening red circles drawn _around_ the flesh of her breasts.

“I want to hear it.” Adaar said, voice like gravel.

Josie felt like she was about to melt, turn into a puddle on the floor that not even Morrigan’s witchcraft could reconstitute. Embarrassment was mixing with hot and roiling lust and Adaar was _making her ask for it_ and Maker, she’d never been so warm. Not even watching the two qunari coming together, all wet noises and desperate panting, had she felt like this.

“I want more,” she whispered, and it was like blessed relief and an aching tease when Adaar slid huge palms, _finally,_ over the swell of her breasts, fingers stuttering over the hard buds and seizing them, sharp and almost painful, between a thumb and forefinger.

Josie’s neck, which until now had been a ramrod straight extension of her spine, loosened like a cut string and she felt her head fall back against Adaar’s stomach. She groaned, a most unlady-like sound, as the shift in posture pulled her chest away from Adaar’s gripping fingers, sensation intensifying and practically shooting stars in her eyes.

Adaar made her first low vocalisation, a hum of pleasure as she slackened her pinching grip, rolling her fingers lazily. “Good,” she encouraged. “I always want more, you see,” she continued. “I want all of you. And sometimes I want you right here, on this desk.”

Josephine gasped as one of Adaar’s hands found a grip in her hair, pins digging into her scalp as she was pulled to standing, and it hurt, but it _felt good,_ and she remembered with a shock the image of the Inquisitor’s limbs pulling against restraints as Bull rained increasingly intense blows down on her buttocks and Josie had wondered, _is this love?_

She didn’t have time to ponder it any further her chair was kicked away, almost casually, like it wasn’t a hundred pound piece of metal inlaid wood, and _yes_ she knew that Adaar was strong but this casual display had her feeling tiny and fragile within the woman’s arms.

Josephine hadn’t even remembered she’d had a body below her waist until she felt Adaar’s sure fingers undoing her belts and her cinch, letting them fall to the floor. Suddenly the whole lower half of her body came rushing back to consciousness, feeling liquid and heavy.

Adaar’s hands weren’t rough but brooked no argument as she literally bent Josephine over the desk, one huge hand wrapped over her clavicle and meat of her shoulder, the other digging into the corner of her hip. Josephine melted into Adaar’s silent direction, suddenly finding her face pressed into the parchment of the letter she’d been drafting not a few minutes ago, bare breasts crushed into the surface of the desk that was her sanctuary, her command centre.

Could it have really only been that long ago that she was writing here, on this very surface? Josephine was certain she’d been under Adaar’s hands, vibrating with sensation, for at least an eternity.

Adaar curved her body down Josephine’s side. “You’re gorgeous, you know.” The taller woman was whispering into her ear, and Josephine shivered into the hands still gripping her. She was swimming upwards through the intoxication of it all, suddenly coming into the awareness that the hand that _had_ been gripping her hip was now hiking up her skirts, finding purchase in the top of her hose, tugging, insistently, and Josephine found herself shifting her hips to help.

Her face burned into the table as she thought about the mess they were making, or the mess that _Adaar_ was making _of her,_ and as though reading her mind the Inquisitor spoke again. “Maker bless, what a sight you are, love,” she said, hot against her ear. Josie felt the fabric of her hose slip over the curve of her buttocks, and her breath seized.

“Are you ever,” Adaar whispered, “going to be able to work at this desk again, without thinking of me?” Josephine felt Adaar’s hand between her legs, encouraging her thighs to part, talented fingers first cupping and then parting the lips of her sex and Josephine jerked her face, crumpling the parchment under her nose as she let out a single, wordless moan.

One of Lady Montilyet’s first observations upon meeting the Inquisitor was that her hands were not proportioned like a humans’. Palms slightly too wide, fingers too long. All the better for curving around a longsword, she’s thought, and now Adaar put those hands to more intimate use, Josephine groaning and breath catching hard, almost hiccupping, as Adaar’s thumb, thicker and longer than it had any right to be, slipped inside her wet flesh from behind.

That left her four fingers cupping the rest of her sex, the warm lips slick and velvety and Josie was lost between the palm still heavy and firm on one shoulder, holding her down and the other pressing fingers past damp curls to seek friction against her most sensitive self, the apex of her sex where all sensation narrowed down to.

Adaar drew her hand together, pressing inside of Josie and she almost sobbed as the qunari found a rhythm, a slick thrust that had Josie pressing her hips back and whimpering, scratched breasts scraping against the surface of the desk and she couldn’t give a damn because Adaar’s whole hand and her half removed smalls, were soaked with Josie’s arousal. Her underwear had been pulled down only far enough to give the woman access, and even as she spread her legs to let Adaar in she was confined, restricted by the heavy hand on her shoulder and the mass of clothes she still wore.

Josephine was nauseously aroused, heat starting to flow in waves when she realised, in the silence of late evening, in the space of her open office, she could hear the sound of Adaar’s hand slipping and pressing and thrusting into her, a slick, wanton noise.

“Maker,” she panted between half crushed lips, and Adaar replied with a quickening of her pace. She growled “Yes, good, good girl, you’re so close, I can _feel it,”_ and pressed her thumb down, hard, as she rubbed fingers quick, sure and brutal over Josephine’s whole sex.

“Inquisitor, I-” and what she had been planning on saying or why she had called Adaar _that_ , now of all times, was lost in a haze of pleasure as Josephine climaxed around Adaar’s talented fingers. Her words disintegrated into a barely-stifled scream and there was a gush of liquid, hot and terrifying, as she pushed up hard against the restricting hand for a single, taut moment before collapsing, sated, against the desk, now warm from exertions.

As the Inquisitor released her, and withdrew her hand, Josephine managed to raise her head to glance over once shoulder, actually _seeing_ Adaar for the first time since she’d entered the office.

Adaar caught her eyes, and very deliberately, raised her hand, shining with Josephine’s slick, to her mouth, and started to lick her fingers.

There was something savage in the gesture, and Josephine felt woozy with the eroticism of the moment. From the moment she’d met Adaar, and yes, the Iron Bull, Josephine had constantly pushed back any preconceived notions of the qunari that snuck into her mind, had refused to let societies notions about their race colour her interaction with the Inquisitor.

But in that moment in the dim of the office, she couldn’t help but imagine the shining liquid disappearing into Adaar’s mouth as blood, and felt weak. The qunari looked beautiful. Her eyes, shining lavender, were intense and yes, savage, and it was the most arousing thing Josephine had ever laid eyes on.

Those same strong hands were suddenly setting the chair to rights, helping to fix at least Josephine’s hose and button her shirts (though she’d need a change of clothes, and soon).

Adaar’s sure hands led her to sit, back in the same solid chair, and she knelt between the young woman’s legs. With Adaar on her knees, their faces were almost level. She pulled Josie in for a kiss. The young woman’s hands, loose and flighty, found purchase, again, in Adaar’s horns, and she held onto them for dear life, the smooth and warm feeling beneath her fingers bringing her back down to earth, slowly, ever so slowly.

“Are you alright?” Adaar asked, cupping Josephine’s neck, stopping her woozy head from simply lolling to one side. The intensity, that primal edge in the Inquisitor’s gaze, was gone, and it was once again just Josie’s friend. Friend turned lover, for sure, but her friend nonetheless, who peered into her eyes, formidable eyebrows scrunched up in concern.

“I am… I am well,” Josephine managed, but against the concern in Adaar’s eyes that was woefully inadequate. Words were _usually_ her strong point, but this seemed to be an exception, so she simply took the women by the horns again, fastening her mouth to hers, taking her time to explore and convince, needing to explain just how fine she was, and using her mouth to do so, even if it was an unconventional communication tactic.

Adaar left Josephine seated for a moment, and retrieved the other discarded garments, cravat, cinch, belt, and heavy chain.

The Inquisitor stood in front of the seated woman, arms full of clothes, eyes suddenly uncertain.

“If… if it is not too forward, my lady…” she began, watching Josephine carefully for her reaction. She ploughed ahead. “If it is not too forward, I have a bath in my chambers. It is- it is closer than yours. You would be most welcome to it. And to… my bed. So you don’t have to return to your quarters so late. If you like. I can sleep on the settee. If you-”

Josephine, legs slowly returning to her control, stood and smiled, raising on tiptoes to kiss the concern from Adaar’s mouth.

“I would like that very much, Inquisitor. Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my self indulgent smut. [ Commander Diomika ](http://commander-diomika.tumblr.com/) for more slippery slopes and glittery polyarmourers.


End file.
